Stranger Than Fiction
by RapunzelK
Summary: This grew out of the knowledge that Jack actually COULD have ridden away on sea turtles. Seriously.
1. Stowed on A Trunk

He didn't fully remember the day, would never be able to say with certainty how much time had gone by. Hours and hours, it must have been, it had to be. Years, it seemed, he'd drifted on this scrap of planking, only just big enough to lie or sit on and not capsize. Lord alone knew what had become of the rest of the crew. Up in the rigging at the time he'd tumbled along with the mast when a cannon shot had split it near the bottom. Other scraps of wood and canvas had come hurtling down afterwards into the churning sea with a splash. Only half-conscious from the impact, he'd clung to the chunk of ship for dear life. When he opened his eyes, he was alone.

Alone on the open ocean, miles from shore without food, without water, without shade. For hours. Days. The nights had been a welcome respite from the blistering Caribbean sun. The heat was bad enough but with the bold, bright sun burning white-hot down on his head… Never had Jack regretted more having dark hair. He drenched his coat and hat in the salt water in attempt to stave off the sun's scorching stare and drifted in the water beside the improvised raft until he grew too weary to hold on. The water was warm, but less so than the blistering rays of daylight, less so than his reddening limbs. Submerging himself only worsened the sun damage but he didn't care. He was already lobster-red but while the water worsened the burning, it also eased the sting. It was either that or dry up on the raft like a landed starfish.

Three nights. Three all too short periods of cooling darkness. The humidity was still stifling, the heat weighing cruelly on his blistered skin. His tattoos had been reduced to dark, green-blue splotches, his mouth had gone sand-dry and a sort of haze of heat seemed to surround him like a second skin. Vainly he wiped his face at the sensation of sweat, but his fingers came away dry. Things began to go black here and there. Distantly Jack tried to tell himself to stay awake, that falling asleep was surest folly, to do so would be to either shrivel up under the ruthlessly hot sun or slide off the raft and drown in the undrinkable, azure depths. Dammit, why did the ocean have to have so much salt in it?

His fingers did eventually slip from the coarse wooden planking. With nothing to hold onto he lay floating on his back, face to the sun, feeling its rays slowly smoldering away the layers of his skin, searing down through muscle to toast his very bones. He had only energy enough to fill his lungs with air, keeping himself feebly afloat. Soon he'd become too tired even for that. No food, no water, scarcely any sleep, all that outweighed and unnoticed under the pain of the stinging sun. Mustering what strength he had left, Jack turned his back to the sun, floating face-down in the warm, salty swell. If he was going to die, even a stupid and disappointing death like drowning, he may as well greet Davy Jones face to face. The burn of salt water in his eyes went unnoticed, trivial compared to heat and sunburn. The blurry ocean depths were lovely in their way, fish darted about, no more than clusters of bright color. Larger, darker splotches appeared below the jewel-like fishes and Jack thought with a bubbled sigh into the water that this was it. The spots swimming before his vision meant he would surely pass out, breathe in the sea water, and sink to the bottom stone dead. He turned his head to get another breath in before the blackness overtook him. He had to be seeing things now. The spots were growing larger but less dark. Hell, now he was feeling things. They were all around him, on every side, touching him with paddle-like limbs that felt strangely soft and smooth with glossy scales. One particularly huge spot rose right up underneath him and Jack found himself clinging to a tough, patterned shell. Instinctively he clung to the moving surface, sputtering slightly as his head broke through the water and back into the open air. Blinking salt water from his eyes he noticed the spots were not black but green and brown in color. A head, round and scaly with wise, yellow eyes turned and looked sagely back at him. Sea turtles. Trunks. A whole heard of them.

"Thanks, mate," Jack rasped, weakly patting the creature on its armored shoulder. "Anywhere there's land would be nice." Actual spots and not more turtles were beginning to creep into his vision. Hooking his arms before the beast's fore-flippers, he lay his head down on its leathery back before he could black out. The spots scattered then gathered and descended again like seagulls over prey. Too tired to care, Jack let them swarm. He couldn't have fought them if he wanted to.

It was cool, blessedly so, and dark. Another blessing. Stiffly, Jack tried to move and regretted it instantly. His skin felt tight, as if it were several sizes too small, every movement sending horrible, fiery prickles throughout his body. It took several moments for him to realize the agonized moans echoing in his ears were his own.

"Mister?"

That wasn't his voice.

"You awake, Mister?"

With supreme effort, Jack forced open eyes almost too swollen to obey. The light was dim and bluish, lit by a flickering source he could not see. A girl, dark-skinned and slim, knelt close by. She leaned and peered at him with eyes dark and sharp.

"How you feelin'?" she asked, her accent clipped and smart. Caribbean. Although her dress was European, she had to be a native.

"Been better…" Jack somehow managed to grunt, moving his lips as little as possible.

"Drink this," she told him, putting a waterskin to his lips. Jack was only too glad to comply and drank greedily.

"That's enough," she said, removing the skin entirely too soon, "you drink much more you'll only bring it up again."

Jack couldn't fathom why that would be and spent several minutes trying to puzzle it out, his roasted brain finally dredging the memory. The battle. He'd been set adrift for…three days at the very least. After that, memory faded.

"What happened?" he croaked, face protesting at the movement.

"You washed ashore," the girl told him. "The turtles makin' their journey to the Tortugas brought you to the beach. I brought you here."

"And where is that, Love?"

"In general or specific?"

"Both."

"You're on the near island off the coast of Florida in a cave on the southern shore. You have sunstroke and it's cooler here than anywhere else. You been ravin' in your sleep for the past two days."

Tortugas? Florida? Good Lord, he'd drifted a considerable distance in just three days then. Wait, sunstroke? That _would_ explain the horrid prickling in his skin. He tried lifting his head a fraction in order to inspect the damage himself but even that slight movement set every nerve on fire, stinging with heat no human was meant to hold.

"Lie back," the girl told him, gently pushing him back, fingers pressing into his hair rather than touching skin. Thoughtful girl.

"What's your name, Darling?" he panted.

"Anamaria," she answered, "and you?"

"Jack. Captain Jack Sparrow."

_Trunks - An archaic term for the Leatherback sea turtle. Leatherbacks, as their name implies, do not have hard shells but tough leathery pads on their backs. Common to the Caribbean area, Leatherbacks are the largest of all sea turtles, reaching up to 7ft in length and 5ft in width once they reach maturity. Curiously, Leatherbacks have no fear of man and like dolphins will sometimes approach a human to see what they're doing or to steal a bit of food. This coupled with their immense size and strength actually supports Mr. Gibb's seemingly wild tale about Jack taming sea turtles and then riding away on them!_


	2. One Foot in Front of The Other

The better part of a week passed before he was able to move without biting his lip to keep from screaming, another two days before he could even think about standing up. The girl, Anamaria, came and visited at least twice a day, sometimes stopping only to leave food and water, other times staying and visiting for a hour or more. Her family worked on a sugar plantation on one of the greater key isles and she'd stumbled across him while gathering turtle eggs. She would take him there, she promised, as soon as he could stand. However, making good on her promise proved unusually difficult.

"Stand UP!" she barked, jabbing her head into his chest. Jack gasped, the light blow magnified on his raw and peeling skin.

"I'm _trying_," he grunted in return, doing his best to straighten and keep his footing at the same time. He'd managed to get to his feet and stagger out of the cave with Anamaria's help, but the soft sand provided less sure footing than the solid rock of the cavern floor. However, he reflected as he fell for the fifth time in ten feet into the warm dust, it was a lot softer. Grumbling curses under his breath, he sat up and gingerly rubbed the spot where his elbow had connected with harder-packed sand.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were drunk."

Accepting her offered hand, Jack allowed her to help him to his feet. He had to drape himself over her narrow shoulders for an awkward moment before his balance returned. Well, it returned in part. Leaving one hand on her shoulder he stood for a moment before making a second attempt. He got about five steps before pitching headlong into the sand again.

"Bugger."

This was proving far more difficult than it had any right to be. He KNEW how to walk, dammit. He'd been doing it for the last twenty-odd years, after all. His body, however, did not seem to want to cooperate.

"When you stopped thinkin' about it was when you went down." Anamaria had plunked down beside him, tucking her brown legs beneath her. "You can't go on instinct any more, the sun's burned it out of your limbs. Think about it. Memorize it. And then you'll be able to walk without thinkin'."

Jack turned his head to face her, eyebrow raised. "And how would you know all this, Missy?"

She shrugged. "There's little shade in the cane plantations. At least one person gets sunstroke every season. They live, but they stagger afterwards, some less than others."

Well, that was somewhat encouraging. Somewhat. At least he could still move. It didn't matter if he didn't glide by like the dandies in Port Royal, he was only a sailor after all. If he could just get his arms and legs and fingers to cooperate, that would be enough.

"All right then, Love. Once more from the beginning." Taking his lifted arm, she helped him up.

Left, right, left, right, watch the rock, left, right, incoming surf, left, right… It was distracting to have to think his way through every step, but it _did_ make a difference. Walking on flat ground had become as tricky as balancing on a tightrope and Jack had to keep both arms out to maintain his balance. Reaching the appointed spot- a palm tree at the far end of the beach- Jack paused, turned, and began the return trip.

"How do I look?" he called, raising his hands. In doing so he stumbled and nearly fell face-first into the warm sand but caught himself, the tips of his fingers only brushing the loose earth. Straightening, he tossed back his head, squared his shoulders, and continued as if nothing had happened. Anamaria was only barley containing her smirk.

"Like a drunken strumpet."

Jack came to a halt in front of her. "Is it really that bad?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well then." Her remark was not helping his already maimed ego. Deciding to make the best of it, he stooped and grabbed a stray bit of sea grass and tucked it behind his ear as if it were a red-bloomed rose. "Just fuss me up with a parasol and panniers and I'll be all set."

Batting his eyelashes dramatically, Jack tripped down towards the surf, hands out and pinkies raised, invisible skirts held aloft in one hand, and imaginary parasol in the other. Unable to contain herself, Anamaria's snerk exploded into full-blown laughter. Turning, Jack grinned and attempted an awkward curtsey which landed him on his behind in the muddy surf. This only made Anamaria laugh harder, turning her own steps clumsy as she went down to the water's edge to help him up. Jack, having already made it to his hands and knees, took her offered hand but instead of allowing her to haul him up, pulled back. Unprepared for the sudden shift of weight, she tumbled forward into his lap, both of them sprawling in the surf. For no real reason Jack would ever be able to remember, he pulled her close and kissed her. She didn't shove him away for the whole thirty seconds their lips touched, but when they broke apart she whacked him full across the face. Jack couldn't repress the yipe of pain brought by the flat of her open palm connecting with his still-tender skin.

"Serves ye right!" she huffed, cheeks flushed, though whether from anger or some more romantic emotion, Jack was unsure. He blushed himself, further reddening his already overly-pink skin.

"My apologies, Love…" he muttered, suddenly feeling very foolish. Anamaria shook her head as if reflecting on the misbehavior of a headstrong child.

"Ass," she quipped, putting her hand to the surf this time and sending a spray of salt water into his face. Jack squinted at the light dousing, accepting his punishment, grateful to note that she'd been smiling as she said it.

_Ataxia – Greek for "disconnected" or "uncoordinated". It's no longer a long-term medical condition. Basically, it's a fancy word for becoming dizzy and unable to walk a straight line or get your extremities to obey. It's a side-effect of sensory impairment that today is most commonly caused by either drugs or alcohol. However, it can also be caused by dehydration and heatstroke. If the heatstroke is severe enough, brain damage can occur, thereby permanently affecting the victim's coordination. Another mark of severe sunburn is permanently blackened skin- particularly the delicate tissue around the eyes._


End file.
